


the texture of a statue matches the description of a dream (or the way the doctor always begins with the head)

by Kealpos



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kealpos/pseuds/Kealpos
Summary: He's starting with the face. She's watching from the bench nearby. The TARDIS seems to snore. He hasn't made a sculpture in a very long time, but he hopes this one will be good.





	the texture of a statue matches the description of a dream (or the way the doctor always begins with the head)

**Author's Note:**

> watched a lot of season one, got sappy, wrote a thing on my phone. not very good, but i like the weight if it, which is basically nothing.

she leans over him and hums inquisitivly, her elbows digging into his shoulder. his pupils dart over at the sound, and then back to the sculpture.

“is that really what i look like?” she asks, cocking her head just a little bit. another crack appears, and he chisles away.

“well,” he says, “you’re still in block form. we’re getting there.” they are holed up in a large room, just the two of them. three if you count the tardis. four if you include the statue.

when he mentioned the art skills he had picked up, he shouldn’t have been surprised when rose pulled out the puppy-dog eyes. no one could rope him in with something as easy as that. no one had in a long time.

parts of the face were beginning to emerge very slowly. he liked to begin with the face. made him remember what kind of person he was trying to create when he got to things with little emotion, like the arms. the hands also had the same effect as the eyes, but who started a piece with the hands? nobody, that’s who.

“that wasn’t a no,” she replies, in the cool amused way he isn’t sure if she always had or got from him. her arms flail, draping across him. her hand reaches for his, despite it being filled with picket.

“you know, i actually need my body to complete this? isn’t that what you want, oh so demanding rose tyler?” she laughs at him, and it just makes him feel warm. he’s been so closed off and frozen solid, when she touches him, it’s like there’s a hiss of steam as the ice melts off. it makes him dizzy in a way nothing ever has. what was the saying? absence makes the heart grow fonder? the absence of this kind of life has made him needy yet unready to trust. hiss, the insecurity begins to float off.

“that’s me, just so needy. alright, ill stop bugging you. ive been needing to see mum again. apparently she met some guy, and has been demanding to chirp my ear off about it,” she says, and her body rolls back off of him. he feels exposed, like his skin’s been pulled back to show the blood and guts underneath it all. he’s actually had that happen before, and let him say: not a fan.

“tell jackie i said hi,” he replies, and she just smiles at him before stretching and walking off. the room stays the same, but it seems bigger now. empty. well, there’s still him and the tardis and the statue. and rose will be back. she always is.

her eyes in the statue stare at him. he stares back.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out at don-lockwood on tumblr. i dont actually talk about doctor who that often. warning you now.


End file.
